


The King Crowned

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Cock Worship, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, F/M, Flogging, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Light Angst, Married Couple, Pegging, Period-Typical Sexism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Westeros might think Jon is the king, and Dany is simply his queen. But behind closed doors, it's clear which one of them rules.





	The King Crowned

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a whole bunch of different combos from the kink meme, some of which I don't remember now. I believe it was rimming + domesticity + striking with a belt + cock worship + anal sex (with a strap-on).

“There you are, sleepyhead.”

Jon stirs from his nap to see Dany looming over him, grinning in that way she does. He flinches, a little embarrassed, as he pulls himself up. “Sorry,” he says. “It's the heat. It gets to me.” He's been in King's Landing almost five years now, and yet he still can't help nodding off in the summer sun. 

“What, this?” Dany asks, a cloak around her shoulders. “This is nothing. You should have felt how hot it was in the Dothraki sea.”

He scoffs. This debate over who is most pathetic about the weather is an ongoing feature of their marriage. “You almost froze when you were in the North,” he reminds her. 

“Yes, and the world was almost destroyed by the Others, I hardly think that counts,” she tells him, which, alright, fair point. Dany walks across the room and pours them both a glass of wine, handing one to him. “Here, this will help.” In Jon's experience, drink isn't really known for waking people up, but he sips from it anyway. 

“So how were things at Crackclaw Point?” he asks. 

Dany pauses a moment. “Fine,” she says, but her body is suddenly stiff, awkward, like she's hiding something. Jon frowns. 

“Meaning?”

She sighs. “It's nothing, really,” she says. “The visit went just fine. They were all most pleased to see me.” 

“...But?”

Dany raises an eyebrow at him. “But I think they would have preferred to see their king.” And she sips from her wine. 

“Oh.” Jon stares a moment. In practice, they rule together, and Jon likes to think they rule well, with a network of allies across the Seven Kingdoms. However, the Westerosi tend to think of him as their king and her as his queen (though the people she brought over from Essos seemingly disagree). After all, he has the better blood claim; he is Rhaegar's son, and hence would take precedence even if he were Rhaegar's daughter instead. But still, he's not going to fool himself that there weren't a lot of people in his land who were relieved that he wasn't a daughter, that there was a man to take the throne and they would not have to actually bend the knee to a woman. And it still seems unfair, that he gets the crown because he is more Targaryen than her, even though she's the one who has any idea what that means. 

They rule together, and they rule well. But still, Jon couldn't fault Dany if were angry she has to share at all. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, and she shrugs. 

“It's not your fault, Jon,” she says, and that is true, but that doesn't make him feel any less guilty. 

Gradually, he gets up from the bed, walking over to where she leans against his desk. Gently, he cups her jaw. Dany looks up at him. “You are the queen,” he reminds her, and her mouth flickers in a little smile. He kisses her brow. “Neither of us would be here if it wasn't for you. I certainly wouldn't have my throne if it wasn't for you.” 

“You're always underestimating yourself, Jon,” she says, but she leans up to kiss him softly, and he kisses her back, threading his fingers through her long white hair. It occurs to him that the Targaryens must not have been a very tall family. She's one of the few women even he seems large next to. 

The kiss deepens, as it so often does. Jon gasps a little when he feels her fingers fluttering at the laces of his tunic. “Already?” he asks as they break apart, smiling at her. 

She raises her eyebrows at him. “I missed you,” she says, and then she pulls the shirt apart recklessly. Jon groans as her fingers run across his bare skin. 

“Here I thought you'd want me to apologise,” he mutters, and she pauses. 

At first, Jon is ready to curse himself for making things awkward and fraught again when they'd moved on from the subject, but then she smirks. “Oh, you can do that if you like,” she leans up to whisper in his ear, and Jon shudders when he sees the wicked look in her eye, the look he ought to find more frightening than he does. His cock twitches slightly. 

“Any ideas, then?” Jon asks her, his voice tight and strained. 

Dany bites her lip, and the reaches behind herself, opening a draw. Jon blushes as she takes it out from its hiding place. “I'll admit, it's a fairly direct approach,” she says as she passes it from hand to hand, like she's judging the weight of a turnip, “but satisfying.” 

Jon bites his lip in turn as she passes the object to him, and he runs his fingers along the length of it, the sturdy black leather covering wood and sawdust. Oh, he knows. He remembers when she first broached the subject, how shy and uncertain he was, and how he ended up begging her for more by the end, moaning and screaming like he thought no woman outside a brothel would. 

“Fair enough then,” he says, and she smiles as he hands it back to her. “Alright, give me a moment.” 

She turns round and he returns to the bed, sitting and waiting, his hands clutching the covers. Her cloak conceals her from view, so Jon can only hear her irritated huff as she struggles with the straps a little. He smiles to himself. Then she turns back around, and his eyes go wide when he sees her. 

Dany hasn't bothered to undress, she's only pulled her gown up and knotted it behind her back, and opened the leather breeches beneath enough to place the toy there, jutting out obscenely from between her legs. No wonder it was tricky to do the straps up. Jon still wonders where she even got such a contraption, but he supposes the capital is full of sinful things they didn't speak of back North. His cock hardens and unwittingly, he spreads his legs at the sight, and then he turns pink, embarrassed by just how very eager she is. 

She sees him, of course, she always sees him, and she struts over with an otherworldly power and grace, nevermind that that thing should make it hard to walk, she looks every inch the dragon, and Jon feels just like the fair maiden she will steal. “Jon,” she says as she stands before him on the bed, the toy now level with his face, and Jon can't help staring at it, big and obscene and mere inches from him. Then she grabs his jaw softly, forcing him to look up at her face while she presses her thumb, soft and delicate, to his bottom lip. “What a pretty mouth you've got,” she tells him, and he shivers. “What a pretty, filthy, cocksucking little mouth.” 

He moans, his cock throbbing in his breeches, and she steps back with a grin. “Kneel, Jon,” she orders him, and he does not hesitate. 

“Mmph,” he mutters when he goes down, his knees whacking against the carpeted floor. Dany takes a moment to see if he's alright, and when he doesn't complain further, she winds her hands through his hair, pulling him closer. Jon opens his mouth, ready to wrap his lips around the toy now so close he's practically breathing it, but Dany keeps holding him back, even as she rubs it across his jaw teasingly. 

“Slowly, Jon,” she tells him. “Enjoy it. Savour it. After all, you don't know when it'll happen again.” 

He groans. Logically, he realises there is no reason for either of them to enjoy this as much as they do. She would probably get more pleasure out of it if he just pushed his mouth onto her cunt instead. But still, it doesn't really matter, not when the toy slips between his lips and he moans as he sucks it as eagerly as he can. 

“Good boy, Jon,” Dany tells him, stroking his hair as he suckles, staring up at her. She bites her lip like this really does make her feel something. “Deeper now,” and Jon is only too happy, letting it into his mouth probably and bobbing his head a little, leaving as much of his spittle as he can along the length, because he suspects he might need it. “Back.” And she pushes him off, leaving him panting, his prick all but begging him to touch it, as the toy drips with his saliva onto the floor. “Lick.” And he does, up and down, up and down, running his tongue from the base to the tip and back again. Then, daringly, he sneaks his tongue underneath the toy, to the tiniest part of her slit he can reach, and she moans and bucks forward toward him. “Oi. Careful, you.” 

Jon grins himself then. “Sorry,” he says, and she huffs before pushing the toy back between his lips, clutching his hair and fucking his mouth, not too hard but enough, enough to make him moan as it grazes against his throat, his prick straining against fabric and probably leaving a stain. The she pulls him back. 

“Up,” she orders, and Jon, a little confused, does so, wincing at sore knees. “Take your clothes off. Then get on the bed, face down.” 

Jon nods, and then immediately starts pulling his clothes off, maybe not as slowly as he should if he wants to put on a show but then again, Dany doesn't seem to mind, her eyes sparkling as he reveals himself, left naked and vulnerable in front of her as he tosses his belt onto the bed. His prick is red and needy as he peels the sticky fabric away from it, and Dany ogles shamelessly. “Now,” she tell him. 

He groans and turns round, burying his face in the pillow as he waits for her.  _She's going to fuck me,_  he thinks and he squirms against the covers, moaning at the relief it gives his aching cock. He can hear her pacing back and forth, and he knows she knows he can hear. She's teasing him. Of course. 

Jon expects her to kneel beside him on the bed, to spread his legs apart and fuck him until he screams, until there is no bloody question which of the two of them is in charge. 

What he does not expect is to be suddenly struck,  _hard_ , on his arse. 

He gasps in shock as his cock spurts into the sheets, and he looks back over his shoulder to see her looming above him, grinning again, with his belt in her hand. “You like this, don't you? Knowing I can do whatever I want with you?” Jon's eyes slide shut and he nods, just before she whips him with the belt once more. He cries out at the pain, which immediately has his prick throbbing even harder, and when it fades to a lingering sting he starts squirming again, like he wants more. “Good boy. Pretty, needy boy.” 

Sometimes he wonders, how is it she knows what he wants so much? To be abused, but also praised? Then the belt hits him again and he mewls, burying his face in the pillow once more, thrusting his arse in the air to present an easier target. He wants her to do it again. But then, he tosses the belt aside with a thud and kneels on the bed, he mattress sinking below him. 

“Don't worry love, you're not in trouble,” she says, her hands finding his hot red arse, and he hisses as she strokes along the welts she left. “I just can't help making your pretty arse bounce.” And by way of apology, she leans down and kisses the welts she left, and Jon gasps again at her breath on his bruised skin. 

“Dany,” he moans, and she hums contentedly before moving across to the other cheek, licking along the red mark there and it stings, but the sensation goes right to Jon's cock. Then, her hands take firm hold of his cheeks and she spreads them apart, exposes him, and he whimpers. “Fuck–” 

He can say nothing after that as her tongue explores his cleft, circling around his hole wantonly, without a drop of hesitation nor shame, and Jon can only whine and squirm as she pleasures him with her mouth, feeling lost beneath her attentions. He gasps and groans and then her tongue pushes in, worshipping his walls, and gods, Jon wants her to fuck him, so badly, he can't believe how badly he wants it. 

“Dany, please,” he begs, and then her mouth is gone. He gasps again, left cold and bereft but within seconds he smells oil, fragrant citrus she sometimes likes him to rub into her shoulders before bed, and he feels her fingers slick and warm meeting his hole and he whines and thrusts up toward her. “Ah, yes.” 

Two fingers slip inside and Jon clings to the pillow, wincing at the immediate sting, but it's gone soon, replaced with a great fulfilling relief as her digits sink inside. He moans eagerly, and she laughs before she leans down again, her tongue lapping around where her hand breaches him and Jon cries out. “Fuck!” 

He wonders sometimes, what the guards, the servants shall think if they overhear, but it does not matter. They are the king and queen, who can question them? Dany moans herself them, and pushes a third finger in, which makes Jon's eyes cross and him thrust back furiously as she stretches him wider, curling her digits so the rub against all the spots they should, and he can't help himself, he just wants more, simple as that. “Dany, Dany, fuck me, please.” 

“You sure?” she asks, leaning up again, her voice full of mirth. “The king himself isn't above taking my cock up his arse?” 

Jon shakes his head furiously before burying it in the pillow again. “Please.” 

She laughs, and then the fingers are gone. Jon smothers a disappointed groan, and then he waits. “Good boy,” she whispers as she kisses his shoulderblade, and he can feel her lining the toy up with his small, tight hole. “Good, needy, willing little boy.” 

Then Dany starts feeding it into him, and Jon cries out as he feels it press against his hole. It's bigger than her fingers; after all, she has very small hands.  _It won't fit,_  he thinks at first although it always has before, and Dany slowly pushes in, a fraction of an inch at a time, and eventually, Jon feels the head pop through him and he shudders down to his toes. 

_Oh yes oh yes oh yes,_  he thinks as it stretches him open, tears coming to his eyes at how overwhelmed he feels. “Like that?” Dany asks when she's barely an inch in, and Jon nods, hoping he won't have to ask aloud for more. And he doesn't; she kisses his shoulder again and then keeps going, her cock splitting him open and Jon's head spins. He loves it, he's always loved it; he wants to be her hole to fuck, he wants to be  _hers_. 

“That's it, Jon, just keep taking it, just keep taking my cock,” Dany tells him as she leans back, winding her fingers through his hair once more, holding it like the reins of a horse. Jon has no idea what else he could possibly do, and so he just spreads his legs willingly as she thrusts in, all the way in. “Gods,” she murmurs once she's buried deep, and Jon can't help but agree. “You look so good like this. You have no idea.”  


He wonders what she looks like, fully clothed with a fake cock between her legs, fucking his arse. He groans and as subtly as he can, rocks back towards her. “Get on with it,” he whispers, and she suddenly slaps his behind lightly, making him gasp. 

“Careful you,” she says, clearly amused, and she quickly does as requested, starting to thrust in and out of him, and Jon can feel his blood rushing all through his body as he clings tighter to the pillow, sticking his arse in the air, whorishly, trying to get more. Dany goes slow at first, careful not to break him, but it doesn't last, not when he's so needy, and it's not long before he can feel the whole length being rammed into his tight hole and he drools into the pillows.  _Fuck_. 

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Dany asks, adjusting her angle so that she's going as deep as she can, brushing against that special spot inside him and Jon can only let out incomprehensible smothered cries in response. “You feel good, getting fucked? Being my willing bitch?” 

He moans, and throws himself back as far as he can, proving just how good he feels being her bitch. She takes advantage, reaching underneath him and grasping his cock firmly, stroking him hard and fast, which is easy, given how wet he is. “I should do this to you in front of the court,” she whispers in his ear. “I should bend you over the Iron Throne and fuck you like a whore. No-one would think I'm just your wife then, would they?” 

Jon cries out and suddenly spills in her hand, all over the sheets, making a right mess of it. He whimpers as the pleasure rushes through his body and Daenerys keeps fucking, keeps touching him through it, gasping quietly at just how much there is. Eventually though, he is wrung dry, and he groans as she pulls out of him, leaving his hole feeling stretched and empty. “Jon?” 

He rolls over onto his back, wincing at the sting at first, before smiling at her. “Dany.” Then they kiss, rough and wet and dirty, he can still take his arse in her mouth, feel his come on her hands, and then he frantically struggles with the straps of her harness, trying to get her cunt free. Before he knows it she's above him, riding his face and he moans at her salty taste flooding his senses, his nails digging into her thighs as his arse still throbs where she struck and fucked him, and when he can feel her writhing atop his tongue as she hits her peak, it almost breaks his mind. 

When he surfaces, she's curled into his side, and he can hear her saying something about Crackclaw Point again, about taxes and homage, and he blinks in confusion. “Huh?” he asks, and he realises he must have drifted off. He wonders if she'll be cross, but then she just smiles at him. 

“Exhausted, aren't you?” she asks, and she leans over to kiss his brow again. “We can talk about it later. Go on, get some rest. I'll tell the guards it's just the summer sun.” 

Jon somehow doubts they'll believe that; someone must have heard him shouting. But still, he watches as she gets up from the bed, readjusting her clothes and running her fingers through her hair, righting herself to go out and be Queen of Westeros while he sleeps, and his eyes drift shut once more. He likes to think they do rule well together indeed. Almost as well as she rules over him. 


End file.
